


Two Less Lonely People

by giddytf2



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, But it's a lovely song, Crack Treated Seriously, Discussion Of Murder, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Humor, Jaskier | Dandelion Sings, M/M, Murder Husbands, My apologies to Air Supply, No Angst, OTP Feels, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Twu Wuv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27348445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giddytf2/pseuds/giddytf2
Summary: The blue-eyed, dark-haired hitchhiker was a beautiful man. Geralt could see that regardless of the dense fog and darkness of night.He waited patiently, silently in the driver's seat. The front passenger door was still open wide for the hitchhiker who'd bent down to talk to him.He didn't like people staring at him. At his long, white hair. His amber eyes. His scars, if he couldn't stay clothed from the neck down. But for some inexplicable reason, he wasn't angered by the hitchhiker's blatant staring.________________________Geralt, a lonely serial killer, drives alone down a foggy road when he encounters a beautiful hitchhiker—not knowing the hitchhiker is a serial killer too.(A belated Halloween twitfic at@giddytf2, edited and reformatted for easier reading here on AO3.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 231





	Two Less Lonely People

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank this [hilarious Halloween trollpasta](https://twitter.com/giddytf2/status/1322778882399858688) for inspiring this one-of-a-kind geraskier story. 😂 Just FYI, there's no gore or violence in this at all, other than light insinuations about past murders of Very Bad Guys during a conversation. 
> 
> If you're unfamiliar with Air Supply's [Two Less Lonely People in the World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRvrbDVYdAA), I highly recommend listening to it before reading the story. It really is a lovely, timeless song.

The blue-eyed, dark-haired hitchhiker was a beautiful man. Geralt could see that regardless of the dense fog and darkness of night.

He waited patiently, silently in the driver's seat. The front passenger door was still open wide for the hitchhiker who'd bent down to talk to him.

He didn't like people staring at him. At his long, white hair. His amber eyes. His scars, if he couldn't stay clothed from the neck down. But for some inexplicable reason, he wasn't angered by the hitchhiker's blatant staring.

The road lamp's warm light delineated long lashes. They were dark, thick lashes that framed large eyes bright with—something that made heat creep up Geralt's neck to his cheeks. He didn't understand why. He just knew that this man was possibly one of the most beautiful he'd ever seen.

He hadn't hunted and killed in a while.

He didn't want to kill this beautiful, sweet-faced man.

After more seconds of awkward hush, Geralt raised his eyebrows at the gaping man. The man reacted as if he'd been electrocuted: after a full-body jolt, he scrambled into the front passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

Geralt's lips twitched at how fast the man yanked the seat belt down to fasten it. At how demurely the man sat, hands on the backpack on his lap, knees together.

If only his other prey were so eager to—

Geralt turned his head away and closed his eyes.

No.

No. Not this one.

Never this one.

"I love the way you just—sit behind the wheel and brood."

Geralt glanced at the man with wide eyes. Gods, he wasn't just beautiful in face and body, he had a beautiful voice to match too. The voice of a singer, perhaps.

"I—" Geralt pressed his lips together. "I'm just—on the way to town."

The man was staring at him again, with those bright eyes, with parted lips. As if there was nothing else in existence but him.

The heat crept up his face.

He cleared his throat. Held the wheel. Resumed his journey down the road, staring ahead.

No, he didn't want to kill this beautiful, innocent, sweet-faced man.

He wanted to look at him. To listen to that melodious voice speak. To know him.

He wanted to feel a little less lonely in a world that would never understand him, or accept him as he was.

"Where you headed?"

The hitchhiker didn't answer him. With a furrowed brow, he turned his head to look at his passenger—and blinked hard.

The man's hands were now clenched fists on the backpack. Those blue eyes were squeezed shut, those plump lips a thin line, as if he was—fighting himself.

What was going on? Was the man about to throw up in his car?

"Hey, what's—"

With a ragged sigh that sounded like it'd punched out of him, the man reached into his backpack.

And pulled out a menacing, iron hook.

On its own volition, Geralt's foot stomped on the brake pedal.

The car screeched to a halt on the deserted, foggy road. Both of them were thrown back in their seats from the momentum—but the man didn't let go of that iron hook.

It was a sturdy hook Geralt knew could easily be used to kill someone.

The man brandished it with a shaky hand.

"Where am I headed?" The man swallowed, then waved the hook around theatrically, his eyes wide. "To your grave! Because I'm a serial killer!"

Geralt stared at him, his lower jaw sagging. Then he stared at the hook, its shape so familiar, yet so different from what he knew.

Was he—dreaming? Was this experience a mere hallucination brought on by being alone on the road for too long?

There was one way to test this theory.

He reached up with his right hand for the lethal curve of the hook. Now it was the man's lower jaw that sagged in shock.

He traced the round, smooth surface of the hook with his fingertips.

"You take care of it very well," he murmured.

The man was beautiful even while sputtering and making a variety of amusing faces ranging from astonishment to pride to utter bafflement.

"I—you—why aren't—"

Geralt sat back, then reached down under his seat for his most prized possession: his loyal, steel companion that had never failed him. The deadly extension of his hand, his self.

He brought it out into the light, into the narrow space between them.

He smiled down at it.

"I'm a serial killer too," he said, raising his head to gaze at the man. "I picked you up because I—"

He lowered his eyes. He stared down at his own hook, at its intricate engravings of howling wolves. He didn't want to finish the sentence.

He didn't want to lose this man.

"You were going to kill me."

Geralt stared down at his hook. He swallowed hard. He nodded.

"But then I—" He gazed into those bright, large blue eyes again. Eyes that held not an ounce of fear. "I saw your face and I—"

They stared at each other in the cozy dimness of the car.

Slowly, in unison, they lowered their lethal hooks. The hooks clicked upon contacting each other—and they stayed that way in the warm air between Geralt and the beautiful man, bonded into one by touch, by a fated meeting in a foggy night under the blessing of a Halloween moon.

They stared down at the connected extensions of their selves.

Geralt cleared his throat. Said, "That drug kingpin. Who was in the news last month."

The man gasped, then murmured, "That was you?"

Geralt nodded.

The man shifted closer to him. The seat's leather creaked loudly.

"The way you arranged him on the tree trunk, like he was a fallen demon—" The man drew in a soft breath. "Lovely."

Geralt stared at him, lips dry, chest brimming.

"You—understand," he rasped. "You see."

The man blushed, and it was a pretty sight.

"I—kill the bad ones too."

Geralt blinked, then murmured, "The car salesman? Three towns over?"

The man gasped, then tapped himself twice on the chest with his iron hook, over a dark brown jumper. Geralt lowered his own hook to his lap.

"Contrary to what the news reported, he was—not a good man."

Geralt nodded. Replied, "The, uhm, battery-powered mini disco ball in his bottom was—very inspired."

He was sincere. The locals couldn't stop talking about that murder for months after it occurred. The news portrayed the man as a good husband and father—but everyone knew.

Everyone knew what that fucker had been doing to his family. What they didn't know was how he also targeted young women in clubs, in neighboring towns and cities.

After his investigations, Geralt knew.

Apparently, so did this beautiful, _not_ innocent, sweet-faced killer.

"I—I didn't mean it, you know." The man lowered those alluring blue eyes. "I don't want to kill you."

Geralt's eyes crinkled.

"I just—" The man rolled his eyes. Sighed. "It's been a while. The _itch_ , you know?"

Geralt's lips twitched.

"I know. Your heart wasn't in it."

The man sputtered with comical outrage. Geralt had to press his lips tight to not smile.

"You—how _dare_ you suggest such a—" The man wilted like a balloon losing air. Bowed his head. "No, it's true. That was my worst performance. You got me the instant I laid eyes on you."

Something in Geralt's chest thundered with a rare yet welcomed warmth. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Somehow, against all the mad odds in this merciless universe, he had met someone just like him. Someone who understood him.

Someone who would accept him as he was.

"I'm Geralt."

His breath snagged in his throat, as if he'd just leapt off the edge of a towering cliff. He felt like he was falling. Perhaps he was flying instead, and if he looked, he would see the innumerable stars around him.

He stared into the man's wide, arresting eyes.

"Jaskier," the man replied huskily. "I'm Jaskier."

Geralt looked, and he saw the stars in this man's—in Jaskier's eyes. He saw the long, indestructible strings of destiny that brought them together this very night. He saw those strings winding around them, closer and closer.

And he did not wish to escape them.

"You're beautiful," he rasped.

"You're gorgeous," Jaskier said at the same time.

They blushed tomato-red. Lowered their eyes, their lips tremoring into coy smiles. Jaskier stuffed his iron hook into the backpack. Geralt cleared his throat.

"Uhm, there's—" He cleared his throat again. "A pub in town that—has good burgers. And ale. It's called The White Wolf."

He stared past the windscreen, his hands resting on his hook on his lap. He ignored the searing heat imbuing his face.

Jaskier's reaction was to—chuckle.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, that's quite a coincidence." Jaskier's smile literally robbed Geralt of breath. "That's where I'll be working starting next week. Singing for the crowd."

Geralt still couldn't regain his breath. Jaskier was—living and working in his town. Jaskier wasn't going to walk away from him once this ride was over.

Jaskier was going to—stay.

Jaskier thought he was _gorgeous_.

"I'm still miffed about my smashed guitar." Those bright blues harbored a dangerous glint now. "But no one will ever find the bastard's corpse."

Geralt's lips moved with a determination that came not from his head but from deep within that throbbing, hopeful thing in his chest.

"I know where you can get a new guitar. And, uhm, if you need a place to stay—"

He clamped his mouth shut. He gripped the wheel with one hand.

The car resumed its course towards town, at a slower speed than before. There was no rush to end this, was there?

He felt Jaskier's warm gaze upon his burning face.

"I was going to look for a motel, at least until I found a more permanent place. But if you—"

"Yes. I meant it."

He didn't need to look at Jaskier to know the beautiful man was smiling again. He felt its heat like a summer sunbeam.

"Right. Well. We can talk about it over burgers and ale, hm?"

He could feel his own beam spreading across his face.

"And you can sing," he murmured, "for me."

Jaskier reached down to switch on the radio. Geralt never listened to it, so didn't care when Jaskier fiddled with the stations. Jaskier sat back after finding one he seemed to like, his eyes and smile softened.

His breath caught at feeling Jaskier's hand brushing his on his lap.

" _Two less lonely people in the world_ ," Jaskier sang along with the song playing, " _and it's gonna be fine_."

Geralt didn't hear the rest of the lyrics—for Jaskier had entwined their fingers, holding his hand without any hesitation, any fear or disgust. Like no one ever had.

He didn't sing along, nor said a word for the remainder of the journey to town.

But Jaskier didn't let go of his hand the entire time.

Neither did he let go of Jaskier's, bonded by touch as they were, by the tight, comforting strings of destiny shielding them from the world.

A year after they met, on a sunny Halloween day with a sky the color of Jaskier's eyes, Geralt married him in a quiet, swift ceremony. The officiant said they made a handsome couple. The clerk dealing with their paperwork gave Jaskier an ill-disguised look of distaste.

Geralt vowed to give that worm a prolonged, agonizing death for daring to think his beloved as anything other than perfection.

But for now, in the sanctuary of their car, after an afternoon of cavorting and making love in the forest—the man in his arms was all that mattered.

Unlike the night they'd met, there was no fog. The black velvet sky was strewn with stars. They were back in town, on the way to their house they'd just bought and moved into with their meager belongings.

They didn't need many material things to be happy. They had each other.

Somehow, against all the mad odds in this merciless, unfair universe, Geralt wasn't lost anymore.

" _I was down, my dreams were wearing thin_ ," Jaskier sang. " _When you're lost, where do you begin?_ "

Geralt drove on in awed hush. Jaskier sang on, his head on Geralt's shoulder.

" _My heart always seemed to drift from day to day, looking for the love that never came my way._ "

Geralt breathed past the lump in his throat.

" _Then you smiled and I reached out to you. I could tell you were lonely too._ "

Jaskier wrapped a strong arm around his waist.

" _One look and then it all began for you and me_ ," Jaskier sang, and Geralt didn't point out the slight break in his husband's voice. " _The moment that we touched, I knew that there would be_ —”

Geralt smiled: next was his favorite part of the song, that would always ring true.

" _Two less lonely people in the world, and it's gonna be fine._ "

Jaskier raised his head. Having stopped at a red light, Geralt gazed at him, their noses grazing.

" _Out of all the people in the world, I just can't believe you're mine._ "

Jaskier stroked his long, white hair.

Long, white hair he was no longer ashamed of.

" _In my life where everything was wrong, something finally went right._ ”

And here, just as unashamedly, knowing Jaskier would never ridicule him for it, he joined in, his low, gravelly voice a startling yet apt mate to Jaskier's.

" _Now there's two less lonely people in the world tonight._ "

They didn't give a damn about the light turning green as they kissed, just like they had after their vows. Geralt laughed when Jaskier stuck his tongue out at the honking car behind them and blew an offensive noise.

Tonight was a night for more lovemaking and laughter. In the morning, they would plot their next gruesome masterpiece. He already knew their next target.

But for now, for now, he was content to drive on, with Jaskier in his embrace, their loyal hooks nearby, ever ready.

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> My head hurts that I even have to write the following disclaimer in this time and age of (dis)information, but having seen how facepalm-inducing so many people can be regarding fiction and their inability to discern it from reality--I do NOT in any way condone serial killing and killers. The above is just cracktastic fiction written for Halloween and for some laughs. I mean, _hello_ , battery-powered mini disco ball in the arse?!


End file.
